


I Need You

by Adventures_in_Writing



Category: Red vs Blue
Genre: Grimmons, M/M, major injury to character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adventures_in_Writing/pseuds/Adventures_in_Writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was the best field doctor any of them had ever seen. If anyone could fix him, it would be Doctor Emily Grey. She had brought Washington back from the edge of death and Tucker too, so surely she’d be able to do the same thing for Sarge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt received on [ my Tumblr](http://an-adventure-in-writing.tumblr.com/): Sarge dies/almost dies and, strangely enough, Grif is the most upset/worried member of Red Team. It's common knowledge that Grif hates everyone. But in reality, he's the one who cares the most. Cares so wholeheartedly that it leaves him incredibly vulnerable. He just covers it up. Simmons seeks out Grif for comfort himself but quickly realises the other man is crumbling, and the act is falling apart, and everything is too hard, and Simmons.. he needs you more than you need him right now.

__

* * *

She was the best field doctor any of them had ever seen. If anyone could fix him, it would be Doctor Emily Grey. She had brought Washington back from the edge of death and Tucker too, so surely she’d be able to do the same thing for Sarge.

Truthfully, his injuries weren’t surprising: it wasn’t completely uncommon for people to get shot in slow motion sequences, but with the sheer number of times they’d cheated _everything_ it was almost unbelievable that a stray bullet had managed to ricochet off of his armour into one of the weak points of the shining red metal suit.

Emily had been working tirelessly to keep Sarge stable and everyone’s nerves were shot. It had been incredibly touch-and-go when they’d first managed to get Sarge into the infirmary. Considering that Doctor Grey was still in surgery with Sarge, they assumed that things were still touchy.

Donut had been beside himself with grief as he and Simmons sat in the back of the Warthog trying to stop the blood oozing through the joints in the armour. When Grif had driven the Warthog straight into the middle of camp, it had been a combination of Donut’s wailing and Lopez shouting in Spanish that had alerted everyone that something was wrong. That had been hours ago. Once Sarge was in Doctor Grey’s expert hands, there was nothing more they could do. Doc had come and sat with Donut for a little while, saying that if the lightish-red armoured soldier needed a shoulder to lean on, he just needed to ask. Donut had sniffled loudly, saying that having Doc talk with him would be really nice. The pair had left not too long after, the medic with an arm around Donut’s shoulders. Lopez had left the waiting room not too long after Sarge had been brought in whilst Simmons paced around in circles in front of the door.

Was there something he could do? Was there some way that he could help? His fearless leader, someone he had looked up to for a large portion of his life, was behind those doors struggling to make it through this.

What happened if Sarge didn’t make it?

A sound of distress forced its way out of Simmons and he knew he needed to stop thinking. He needed someone to keep his mind from thinking of every possible scenario, he needed the only other constant in his life.

Simmons needed Grif.

*****

There was so much blood in the back of the Warthog. Grif had a fairly strong stomach, but the sight of it made his stomach lurch. He breathed deeply, his hands clutching at the steering wheel whilst he tried to calm down.  
Grif couldn’t let anyone see him like this. Hell, Sarge wouldn’t want him acting like this either but his hands wouldn’t move and his muscles wouldn’t relax and his heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

How could his stupid, reckless, _infallible_ leader go and do something as dumb as getting shot? Sarge was supposed to be the one shooting people. He always threatened to shoot Grif with the shotgun. Sarge wasn’t the one who was supposed to get shot. His plans were always crazy but, most importantly, they always worked.

Things like this weren’t supposed to happen.

“Grif?”

Simmons’ familiar voice cut through the torrent of thoughts in Grif’s mind and he slowly looked up at the maroon armoured soldier. He didn’t have his helmet on right now, so Grif could see his ashen face and green eyes wide with concern. He carefully reached out, laying a gentle hand on Grif’s. Simmons had seen this sort of thing fairly often. Panic and anxiety attacks weren’t fun, and they were especially scary if you’d never had one before. Simmons couldn’t recall a time when he’d seen Grif quite so out of sorts. He honestly hadn’t thought that Grif would care quite so much. After all, it was common knowledge amongst everyone that the Red team leader and the laziest member of the army didn’t think highly of one another. Apparently, he and everyone else, had been mistaken.

“Grif, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Simmons?”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit.”

With more effort than it should have taken, Grif managed to let go of the steering wheel and step out of the Warthog. Simmons walked slowly with him over to a stack of empty crates in the vehicle bay and sat down beside him.

“Is he…gonna be okay?”

“Doctor Grey is doing everything she can.”

“He’ll be okay, right?”

Simmons forced a smile. “You know Sarge. He can get through anything. He’ll be up and about and calling you dirtbag before you know it…”

He didn’t know what to do or what to think. His mind kept replying those few terrifying, sickening moments of when Sarge slumped into the vehicle, red pooling on the seat and over Donut’s armour.  
  
Grif couldn’t drive fast enough. What if the reason Sarge died was because he didn’t get back to base in time? What if the reason Sarge got hit by the bullet was because his trajectory was off when going over the mound of dirt, making them airborne?

“It’s my fault, Simmons. If my driving wasn’t so all over the place…”

Simmons shifted, crouching in front of Grif forcing the solider to look at him.

“You are not allowed to say or think that. Grif. This isn’t your fault.

“But what if it is,” Grif whispered.

Despite his own desire for comfort, despite wanting to talk to Grif about how he was feeling about Sarge being in hospital and how worried he was, Simmons held it back. He had never seen Grif like this before: completely at a loss and openly concerned. So he did the only thing he could think of right now. He pulled his comrade, his friend, into a hug as best he could.

“We’re going to be okay, Grif.”

He didn’t comment on how Grif clutched at him, or how he could hear tiny sobs, he simply let Grif cling to him whilst Simmons whispered sweet nothings to him because, right now, Grif needed Simmons.


End file.
